Loss of Grace
by Dismal-Spectre
Summary: With festivities underway, no one expected the arrival of the mysterious Quintessons. But could they trust these strange creatures or do they have a more sinister plan in mind for Cybertron?


**Loss of Grace**

Chapter 1: Preparations

From the landing of his 37 tetrameter high office space Alpha Trion took a moment from his hectic schedule to gaze at the bustling activity below. The gilded buildings of Iacon shimmered under the early rays of the Cybertronian sun, radiating with a golden fire. Since the wee hours of daybreak, the trickle of sky transports had become a steady flood, then an overflowing torrent more inhabitants joined the daily grind. Thousands took to the streets, cluttering the byways bumper-to-bumper. Caravans of trade frigates streamed in, congregating at the capital's customs office. In countless buildings, the sounds of the morning ritual began; the bubbling of freshly brewed low grade fuel, the clatter of data disks, and the murmuring behind closed conference doors.

Amid the busy Hub of Iacon, one could feel the shift in the rhythm in the city. There was a slight increase in the tempo. A spring was in everyone's step. Tempers became more frayed then usual. Lines extended further at department stores, an ordeal made worse by the unceasing whining of children.

Underlining the pandemonium rippled a current of excitement. It channeled through the masses. Even those already burned out by the extra work looked forward to the upcoming times.

At the center of it all, as if the physical embodiment of this new charge, the grand Cathedral of the Heights had undergone a massive transformation. Its sweeping portico columns were adorned with large cut gems and crystals, each facet catching alight and setting the stones ablaze. Garlands of glowing light were strung across its yawning arches. Priests paced the polished hallways, clothed in bright embroidered vestments. The sweat fragrance of aloes and myrrh flowed through the halls. In the Women's Court, maids flocked to the energon wells, drawing buckets of the pink fluid from its depths. Their laughter and gossip filled the air.

Even the Chamber of the Ancients was not immune. From the first opening hour, Trion's invoice box was under assault from myriads of provincial officials' requests to partake in the honorary state dinner. Calls from senators jammed communication lines. After answering about at least three dozen of these, he turned them over to his secretary.

It was mundane tasks like this that made Alpha Trion wonder if the Council saw him more as a desk worker than an active member of its body. That was gratitude for you. Once you reached a certain age you were considered obsolete and out of touch with today's world. Truth be told, Trion could hardly understand his younger peers. He may be a bit more 'conservative' but at least he was cautious. Why just the other day they had formed yet another trade alliance with a race that they barely knew…

But enough of criticizing how greedy they were. What could one old bot do to change the majority's habits? For now, he would dismiss such petty concerns and allow himself to enjoy the festivities.

His desktop console buzzed and lit up. Groaning inwardly, he strode back inside and hit the connection link. "Yes, Moonfall?"

A lavender femme appeared on the screen. "Sir, the Abbot requests your presence at the Cathedral for the ceremony rehearsal. He states that your attendance is mandatory."

Alpha Trion frowned. It never made sense why the head minister of the Order of Primus always felt the need to have him come to these tedious rehearsals. He performed his part of the ritual every year, and after doing it for so long it became almost second nature. He sighed. It was yet another one of the hassles of his job, being the state representative in these religious pomp and circumstances. His only consolation was that it gave him an excuse to see his god daughter in an otherwise work-logged day.

"Very well, tell him I'll be there shortly," he replied, cutting the connection.

-------------------

By the time the traffic had cleared from the accident on the Mixmaster Overpass, his shuttle pulled into the oval driveway of the Cathedral by mid-morning, a full cycle more than the normal flight time it usually took him. Already the lot was packed and much to his irritation someone had taken his VIP parking. Walking three blocks then up the mountain of white marble steps, Alpha Trion was immediately accosted by a very anxious Abbot.

The stouter drab-clothed mech wrung his hands. "Where have you been?" he hissed, half dragging the dignitary through the crowded Atrium. "Your part is coming up soon. You ought to have been here half a cycle ago."

Alpha Trion shrugged knowing the sooner he got this over the faster he could leave. As they passed a procession of white-robed young femmes, one of them began to cry out at him in glee.

"Trion! Trion!" she rushed up and embraced him in a tight hold, much to the displeasure of the stern-faced Abbot.

Chuckling, Alpha Trion returned the gesture. "Well, well. Look at you all dressed up. You look absolutely stunning, my dear."

Indeed Ariel was a sight to behold, the envy of what every Daughter of Primus desired to be. The folds of her crisp white linen stola flowed over her slender pink shoulders, accenting the curves of her sleek body. A fine chain of silver with embedded pearls and diamonds adorned her long white throat. The semi-transparent veil that covered her thin moon-shaped face could not hide her spirited sapphire-blue optics. It was without a doubt why she among the other virgins of Primus was called 'Elita One,' the Chosen One. Her gentle laugh washed away whatever waves of indignation he had held since the day began, and suddenly he felt himself beaming as well. His spark filled with pride.

"I'm so happy you finally showed up, Papa. You're just in time for our Moonlight Dance rehearsal. Won't you come watch us?"

He grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry, Ariel. The Abbot has specifically called me here on a more pressing matter." His optics trailed to the stern ones gazing back at him. "But I shall join you shortly. That is, if it isn't too much to ask you ladies to do an encore performance for an old mech?"

Ariel smiled. "Oh, I'm sure we can manage it. I'll see you later then?" With that she merged back into the sea of wide flowing into the inner courtyard.

Tapping his foot impatiently, the Abbot seized Trion's arm once again. "You are already late. I suggest we have no further interruptions till then."

Resigning to his fate, Trion allowed himself to be towed along. Obsolete indeed. He could imagine the other Councilors snickering behind his back. Perhaps he could get back at them by inviting the Abbot to the state dinner. It would be worth the nagging.

---------------------

"Damn, that is really good stuff," Jazz exclaimed as he partake a sip of the reddish fuel sloshing inside the steel drum. "High grade indeed. Those politicians aren't being stingy this year."

Slapping aside his hand, Ironhide snapped the lid back on the container. "No matter. What they ordered, they ordered. And they don't need your backwash to add flavor." He whistled to the rest of the crew lingering close by. "Back to work boys. This shipment ain't going to load itself."

Hopping up onto the dozer, Hound turned the ignition and the engine roared to life. As the forklift slipped under another drum, Bumblebee and Brawn fastened the straps.

"I can't wait for the festival tonight," Brawn was saying as they worked. "Three days off, feasting, dancing…"

"Drinking, brawling, gambling. Yep," Huffer added as he passed by, toting another fuel tank in his arms. "The law will have grand time with you."

Brawn harrumphed. "I bet you're the real life of the party."

"And you're quite the ladies' man," Huffer shot back, dodging a flying hydraulic fist before scampering away.

"Little prick," Brawn scowled, much to Bumblebee's amusement. But it as all for fun. For as long as they yellow mech could recall the two were old friends despite their constant bickering. In fact, Bumblebee would be very concerned if he hadn't heard one snide comment from either of them all day.

"How about you, boss?" Bumblebee inquired of Ironhide. "Looking forward to a little R&R with the little lady?"

The seasoned merchants' blue optics darkened slightly, reflecting his embarrassment. "But of course, Bee. Hell, I've haven't seen her since the last lunar cycle. I wonder if she's still holding it against me for forgetting her activation day."

"Hoo hoo," chortled Jazz. "Real smooth, 'hide. That's not the way to impress a gal." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "The only way you can get back into her good graces is to do something totally extraordinary, something that will make it up."

"Well, Love Doctor, what are ya suggestin'?"

"Treat her to a fancy expensive dinner then suck it up and tell her you're sorry. Make sure you add in how good she looks," the vizored mech replied nodding. "And if you want to got the extra megamile, tell her that you've been thinking of her since the last you've seen her." He nudged the red bot. "Girls like that."

Approaching, Huffer snorted. "How cliché. It would never work."

"Coming from the sour mech who hadn't dated since Capisi's comet passed the northern skies," Brawn grunted.

At this, Ironhide waved them off. "Since when has my relationship with Chromia become a public debate? Git back to work you slackers."

After much laughter, the others complied, returning to their tasks as Ironhide began consulting the Cybertronian Directory for the best but affordable restaurants.


End file.
